


Down at the Slap and Tickle

by Scruggzi



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Attempted Kidnapping, F/M, POV Jack Robinson, Phryne rescues herself, Pre-Relationship, Really inept criminals, Snark and Banter, URST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 13:39:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19319305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/pseuds/Scruggzi
Summary: Jack get's a phone call from someone who claims to have kidnapped his wife, he's fairly sure they don't mean Rosie.





	Down at the Slap and Tickle

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a Tumblr post by captainbrig
> 
> Criminals: Please sir, we’re sorry we kidnapped your wife -  
> Jack: I don’t have a wife?  
> Criminals: Just please take her back, she picked her handcuffs in three seconds and is taking out all my men with judo and thigh smothers.  
> Jack: Oh my god, you have Miss Fisher.

“We’ve got your wife, copper. If you wanna see her again, you’re gonna have to pay.”

The voice on the other end of the phone was rough, with a cruel, satisfied edge to it. Of course, Jack no longer had a wife, but stupidity on behalf of kidnappers was no guarantee of safety for their victim. Assuming they really had one.

“What do you want?” he could feel the bile rise in his throat, but someone’s safety could well depend on him staying calm, and he had a horrible suspicion he knew whose.

There was an intake of breath as if the man had been about to reply, followed by “How the hell did she get out, Jimbo grab ‘er quick.” Followed by a loud curse and what was unmistakably a gunshot.

The line went dead.

The inspector placed the receiver back on the hook with care, the anger bubbling beneath his stoic exterior would be perceptible only to those who knew him well. There were only so many women in the city who could go from kidnap victim to scourge of the underworld in the space of a single telephone call, and even fewer that anyone might mistake for his wife. Nevertheless, he was a man known for his thoroughness, and he had to make sure.

He picked up the phone again and asked the operator to connect him to Rosie’s sister’s address. The maid answered, confirming that Rosie was in the parlour and asking if he would he like to speak to her. Jack declined, not wishing to have to explain himself, although he fully expected to have that conversation before the end of the day. He sighed. If he was lucky, maybe he would get shot, that way he wouldn’t have to explain the misunderstanding to his former wife.

Mr Butler answered at Wardlow, informing him that Miss Fisher was out on a case and the terror that he had been fighting against since he heard the words ‘your wife’, rose up and threatened to drown him. It was all the evidence he needed. They had Phryne. He checked his watch and tried to remember that by this point, it was more thank likely Phryne had them.

Less than five minutes after the would-be-ransom call had ended, every policeman in the city had been alerted to Miss Fisher’s disappearance, and he and Collins were driving towards the docks at a speed that would have made their quarry proud.

It was all over by the time they got there. Jack had made an educated guess; James ‘Jimbo’ Elis was a well-known thug for the Portsiders and his erstwhile boss was currently languishing in a cell at City South - thanks in no small part to the combined forces of himself and a certain Lady Detective. This scheme had all the hallmarks of a misguided attempt to secure the man’s release.

Pulling up outside the Slap and Tickle - the grotty dockside pub that served as the gang’s unofficial headquarters – the two policemen were treated to the sight of three burly dockers, all looking sour and defeated; one of them was supporting what appeared to be a broken nose, and all of them looked distinctly bruised. The man closest to Phryne was clutching what looked like a gunshot wound to the thigh, deftly bandaged with a silk scarf. The other two were tied up with what looked like a pair of stockings and an ivory satin garter that Jack was fairly sure he recognised. Not that he had been looking, obviously, but she’d flashed them at him more than once and he couldn’t be blamed for his powers of observation…

Phryne was sitting, cool as a cucumber on an upturned beer crate, her pistol levelled at the three men and an expression of unassailable smugness on her face. Jack’s heartbeat slowed from a panicked whirr to the steady thrum of longing he always felt when in her presence.

His first thought was to thank a God he had never truly believed in that she was safe. His second was ‘Christ, she’s going to be insufferable after this.’ He caught her eye and raised a quizzical eyebrow in request for information.

“Glad you could make it, inspector. You may want to arrest these three on charges of assault, kidnapping and the wanton destruction of a silk scarf and a pair of my best stockings. I fear even Dot won’t be able to do much for them now.”

Jack nodded to Collins who bundled the three men into the back of the police car whilst he approached his partner. Close up you could see the little cracks in her defiance, she had triumphed, and she would make damn sure that no-man ever forgot it, but it hadn’t been a flawless victory. There was a large bruise on her wrist, although she had held her gun steady, and a cut above her eye just visible under her hairline.

He sighed inwardly, knowing that too much sentiment right now would not be well received.

“You alright? Apart from the damage to your stockings, I mean?”

“Nothing a hot bath and a stiff drink won’t fix. Care to join me, inspector?”

That damned smirk would be the death of him he knew it, images of her body, naked and glistening wet from the tub, were banished determinately to the recesses of his imagination. Taking care to shoot her an admonishing look - a man had his pride after all - he stroked the hair back from her forehead to examine the cut. It looked sore but not deep, she would be fine.

He breathed again.

Then he made the mistake of meeting her eyes, and the softness of her hair against his fingers struck him like a blow to the chest. She moistened her lips, and there was such unguarded want in her expression; it would be so easy to let himself believe it was for more than just a gaudy night and the comfort of a friend by her side. He could almost taste her, so real and warm, and alive; the effort of not taking her in his arms was stretching his resilience to breaking point.

“Should I take these blokes back to the station, sir?”

Collins was at this point so dependable when it came to strategic interruptions that if Jack didn’t know the man, he would suspect it was deliberate. The look he and Miss Fisher shared was one of rueful amusement. She almost had him that time and she knew it.

“Yes, thank you Collins, and see that they get medical attention. I’ll escort Miss Fisher home and meet you back at the station.”

“Oh, no need for that Jack. Bert and Cec should be here any minute. I was planning to drop your prisoners off at City South on the way home.” She had lowered her voice and was actually batting her eyelashes at him. It was all he could do to keep a straight face. “I didn’t realise you would be riding to my rescue. It was ever so gallant of you, inspector. You’ll turn my head.”

He glared at her; it was a practiced glare, one that had in the past reduced more than one Junior Constable to a stuttering mess. She grinned at him, entirely unphased and apparently enjoying herself.

“All part of the job, Miss Fisher,” his lips twitched as he continued to fight back a smile, he really shouldn’t encourage her. “And I’ll still need to take your statement.” He turned back towards the car. “I should be back to interview these gentlemen before the end of my shift, if not I’m sure a night in the cells won’t do them any harm. They may even find a familiar face waiting for them.”

The idea did not seem to cheer any of the men who appeared to shrink further into the back seat of the motorcar at his words.

Collins nodded and started the engine, heading off in the direction of City South with the prisoners, leaving the two detectives to wait for their lift in slightly uncomfortable silence. Both very aware of the moment which had – yet again – passed them by.

“I take it that was the plan?” Jack added. Assuming Phryne would have picked up on his oblique reference the trio’s erstwhile boss.

“Exchanging me for Will Davis? That was the idea, amazing that they would think such a foolhardy scheme could work.”

“Attempting to imprison you? Yes, they’re lucky they escaped with only minor injuries.”

She rolled her eyes at his sarcasm, both of them avoiding the question of what he would have done if she hadn’t managed to escape on her own.

“Well I wouldn’t want to cause you unnecessary paperwork, inspector.”

“But unnecessary headaches and a minor apoplexy are fair game?”

“Don’t be like that, I was perfectly safe. They just caught me off guard that’s all.”

She hadn’t been and they both new it, but he knew from experience that there was no point in arguing with her.

“In that case, perhaps I should keep a closer eye on you in future,” he growled in resignation, perhaps a little more flirtatiously than was strictly necessary.

“Oh, I do hope so, Jack,” Phryne grinned, “I still need that bath after all.”


End file.
